


Midnight

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Based on a Tumblr Post, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Arthur holds a ball on his twenty-first birthday in the hopes of finding a wife. What he finds instead is a mysterious serving boy that changes his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://neuroticnick.tumblr.com/post/54089327733) tumblr post.

The ball was in full swing. Young women from all over had come to win the favour of Prince Arthur in the hopes of becoming the future Queen of England. There were exotic princesses from countries Arthur had never heard of, noblewomen Arthur had seen taking evening walks round the castle, and even cousins of his that King Uther deemed distant enough to have a fair chance in the running.

All were beautiful. In fact, Arthur had never seen so many attractive women in one place before, and was quickly marking this down as the Best Birthday Ever.

“Have you had the pleasure of meeting the Lady Vivian?”

Arthur turned towards the voice. A man that he rightly assumed to be her father stood with his and his daughter’s arm interlocked. The young lady had lovely blonde ringlets and an even more lovely smile.

“I don’t believe I have.” Arthur brought Vivian’s soft knuckles to his lips and kissed them lightly, bowing his head with respect. “Lady Vivian.”

The lady coloured prettily and graced Arthur’s ears with a voice that sounded like music. “Happy birthday, Prince Arthur. This is quite a ball.”

“Thank you. I trust you are having a good time?”

“Of course.”

“I was just telling my daughter of your prowess with a bow,” her father declared.

Vivian’s face lit up and she leaned forward eagerly. “Is it true you can shoot a bird right out of the sky?”

“Forgive her, Your Highness, she has yet to learn the importance of propriety and what it means to speak out of turn,” the elder man said with a heated look at his daughter. Vivian shrunk back, chastised.

“It’s quite alright. I admire her enthusiasm, though I am sorry to say it is misplaced. I assure you, the bird was quite immobile perched on that branch,” Arthur replied with a charming smile in Vivian’s direction.

“Ah, yes, well, court gossip, I suppose,” Vivian remarked with a shy smile of her own.

“I am flattered, though I suppose I shall have to practise if I’m to live up to their expectations.”

Just then the King called Arthur over with a curt, “Arthur!” Arthur spun around and nodded once at Uther before returning to the Lady and her father.

“If you’ll excuse me. It seems my father would like a word.” He planted another quick kiss to Vivian’s hand. “It was very nice to meet you, Lady Vivian.”

“And you, Prince Arthur.”

Arthur nodded acknowledgement to her father and quickly went to his own. “Yes, Father?”

“Do not waste your time with such filth, Arthur, for you can do so much better,” Uther declared in a quiet but firm tone. He waved politely to a passing gentleman then took a goblet from a nearby serving boy.

“She is...not unattractive, Father.”

“Yes, but she also isn’t a princess, is she? There are _princesses_ here, Arthur, many of whom would be happy to sire an heir and ally their father’s kingdom with ours. I do not wish you to simply _settle_ for something.”

“I thought...” Arthur trailed off, hesitant to say something his father might not approve of.

“What?” Uther urged him.

“I was...under the impression that the purpose of this ball was for me to find a suitable mate...of my choosing.” Arthur added the last part reluctantly.

“And so it is. You will choose from those _I_ find acceptable.” Uther downed the rest of his drink and looked around angrily. “Where is a servant when you need them?” he muttered.

Almost immediately a dark-haired man walked into view, balancing a tray of cups just as empty as the king’s. He offered it with a wide smile and Arthur couldn’t help but notice the playful light in his eyes.

“Ah, finally.” Uther set the goblet heavily on the tray and Arthur thought for a moment the whole thing would fall from the serving boy’s slim hands. However, the man kept it steady and, somehow, his smile seemed to widen as he looked at Arthur as though they were sharing a joke.

Not once did his and Arthur’s eyes break contact, not until the serving boy turned and disappeared into the mass of attendees. Arthur found himself looking for the tangled mop of dark hair as his father continued to drone on about some princess or other.

“There she is, over there.” Uther pointed and the kingly hand in his view caused Arthur’s eyes to follow it. It was quick, Uther not wanting to be caught singling someone out too obviously.

The princess in question had light brown hair that fell just below her shoulders. Her eyebrows were heavy and fierce, and Arthur could tell just from looking she had a bit of a temper, a certain fire in her. Lady Vivian and many other women he’d spoken to that night had lacked that quality, a characteristic Arthur felt any good woman should have. She was pretty and graceful, yet strong and poised.

“She’s...stunning,” Arthur said, awed.

“I’m glad you think so. You should dance with her before the night is out.”

“What did you say her name was again?”

“Mithian.”

“Princess Mithian.” Arthur tasted the name on his tongue. “Yes, I believe I’ll dance with her now.”

Uther put a proud, heavy hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Excellent.”

Arthur made his way down the steps and into the crowd. Several women tried in vain to get his attention, attempts to which he politely acknowledged with a nod and an apologetic smile. Mithian was on the other end of the ballroom laughing at something one of the ladies was saying. Arthur could hear the tinkling bells of her laughter from where he was.

He was almost upon her and they had indeed made a sort of quick eye contact when the dark-haired serving boy suddenly stood directly in front of him. It wasn’t purposeful, in fact it seemed the man had been standing there all along and Arthur had walked into _him_ rather than the other way around. Yet Arthur couldn’t help but feel this man had been put in his path out of some cunning design and took the few moments to get a closer look at the man while his attention was elsewhere.

The man stood with a demeanor none of the other servants did. He had his hands clasped behind his back and stared straight ahead, his eyes never darting from place to place as another’s might. Arthur attributed this to his confidence in his ability to serve, for the man had seemed almost reckless when Uther’s heavy hand came down on the serving tray.

Arthur had only a side view, but even then the man’s eyes had a smoldering quality to them, an intense dark blue fire with a tiny sparkle of mischief. Arthur wondered how old this servant was; he couldn’t be much younger than himself.

And the lips...the man’s lips were a perfect bow, the set of his mouth telling Arthur more about him than the rest of the man’s body. He loved to laugh, for such a mouth was meant to smile, and he loved to tease, for Arthur could clearly imagine the hint of a smirk on the amicable face.

Arthur shook his head to clear out such thoughts. It was Mithian he should be focused on. He was about to take a step forward when the servant turned abruptly and began walking away as if in a rush. The man adeptly navigated the close press of bodies and slipped through mingling nobles as though unseen.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Arthur hastened to follow, forgetting Mithian for the moment. Many people tried to get his attention but he ignored them as he had when making his way toward the princess. The mop of dark hair was quickly getting further away from him and Arthur began to panic that he would never get to see the man smile again.

Finally, Arthur emerged from the mass into the corridor. The serving boy was just disappearing around the corner and Arthur quickened his pace, breaking out into nearly a run now that his path was cleared.

Around the corner was a short corridor that ended with a stained glass window overlooking the castle garden. The hall was dark, lit only by a single candle, and Arthur could only barely make out the man’s tall form in the light of the moon that came in the window.

Arthur approached slowly, feeling as though he were walking up to a rabbit that would flee should he move to suddenly. When he was just an arm’s length away, the man looked over his shoulder and noticed Arthur as if he had expected him to be there.

“Prince Arthur,” he said. It was the first time Arthur had heard the man’s voice, and it had a soothing quality to it. Arthur felt he could lie down and fall asleep. “I thought you would be enjoying the ball. It is for you, is it not?”

“You should be there as well, shouldn’t you? You are a servant after all,” Arthur answered diplomatically.

The servant smiled, causing Arthur to feel suddenly lighter. The playful light in his eyes was back, and he leaned in as if to share yet another joke with the young prince.

“I don’t always do what I’m told, Your Highness.”

Arthur was speechless for a moment. To admit to disobedience in front of a royal was nearly unheard of, and Arthur had to wonder if the serving boy had dipped into the wine. The glint in the man’s eye however was not from intoxication, and his speech was decidedly smooth. No, it was more that the servant knew Arthur to be just as playful as him at heart, even if it was his twenty-first birthday and he was to become a man.

“Did you follow me here?”

The man’s voice startled Arthur from his wandering thoughts. “I...yes.”

The servant stepped closer, farther away from the window, thus casting more of his face in shadow. Only his eyes remained illuminated, an effect which had Arthur's heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“May I ask why?”

Arthur swallowed. “You intrigue me.”

One dark eyebrow shot up, along with a corner of his mouth. “How so?”

“You are not like the other servants.”

“Aye, I’m not,” the serving boy responded with a chuckle.

“You have a lovely smile,” Arthur found himself saying.

The servant’s smile broadened and reached his eyes. “Thank you.”

Just then the clock began to sound and they stared at each other until the final strike.

“It’s nine,” the serving boy said. “Shouldn’t you return to your guests?” It wasn’t said with suggestion or malice, but with a childish reluctance, as if he knew Arthur should go but didn’t quite want him to. For this reason Arthur decided he would stay a few more minutes, awkward as the conversation was between them.

“I think I shall stay a bit longer. I haven’t been gone long enough to be missed.”

“But you _will_ be missed. You are the prince. I am but a serving boy.”

Arthur shook his head. “No.”

“No? You deny—”

“I _am_ the prince. That’s not what I meant.” Arthur looked down at his feet. He wasn’t quite sure what he meant, only that for this man to be “but a serving boy” seemed an ill-fitting description. He was so much more than that.

Luckily, the servant didn’t press the issue, only smiled and nodded. Suddenly Arthur felt a pressure on his chin: the man’s finger urging him to raise his head and look up. The touch was soft but firm and Arthur felt he couldn’t breathe.

“It is different for a prince to not do as he’s told.”

The warm finger left and Arthur mourned the loss, but nodded. “It is. But as prince I have the right to at least some small liberties, one of them being where I choose to spend my evening, ball or no.”

“And how would you like to spend your evening?”

Arthur’s eyes fell to the man’s lips. The lower half of his face was still in shadow, and before Arthur could help himself he began to push gently on the man’s shoulders until they stood in the moonlight once more.

“I would very much like to kiss you,” Arthur said, surprising himself. The serving boy seemed less taken aback than Arthur expected, only pleased, for which Arthur was grateful.

“Then kiss me, Your Highness.”

Arthur leaned forward to do just that. He raised his hand to cup the pale cheek, caressing the protruding cheekbones with the pad of his thumb before closing the final distance and bringing their lips together.

It was soft at first, Arthur only slightly sucking the man’s bottom lip and the man following Arthur’s lead. But then a subtle flick of tongue urged Arthur’s lips apart, and immediately after opening them just the slightest bit, the man’s tongue dove in and claimed. It teased the roof of Arthur’s mouth, the back of his teeth, and just beneath the top of his lip. Arthur gripped the man’s shoulders tighter, for he felt suddenly light-headed and breathless.

Too soon, the serving boy pulled away and Arthur, aware that he’d stepped out of his bounds tonight, did not chase the lips he already dearly missed.

“Arthur,” the serving boy sighed, closing his eyes briefly and licking up the remnants of the kiss.

Arthur had no choice then; he darted in for another while the man’s eyes were still closed and this time wrapped his arms around the man’s waist. Their torsos aligned and it was all hard muscle instead of soft flesh, but Arthur found this even more thrilling. He no longer kissed tenderly but with uncontrolled passion and desire.

“I...” Arthur dropped his hands abruptly, suddenly embarrassed by his behaviour. “Perhaps I should return to my guests after all.”

The serving boy nodded and Arthur was pleased to note he was now just as out of breath as him. “Yes.”

As Arthur stepped away he only just then realised what the man was wearing: brown trousers, a rough blue tunic, a light brown jacket, and a torn red neckerchief. It was different from the other servant’s garb but perhaps he had been hired particularly for the ball. Before Arthur could think too much into it, he turned and left. He was quickly feeling overwhelmed by emotions that he couldn’t name and longed to return to some form of normalcy.

Upon reentering the ball, he remembered Princess Mithian. Her beauty seemed to pale in comparison now, but she was still very pretty. It would please his father if Arthur at least danced with her, so he set out to find her once again.

She hadn’t moved. She was still talking animatedly to a group of ladies by the entrance to the balcony, though she now held a goblet in her hand. Arthur made his way over with a heavy heart and tried to force a smile on his face as he asked her to dance. It seemed to work because the princess, as well as her friends, were ecstatic.

“I’ve heard stories about your dancing, Prince Arthur,” Mithian remarked.

“Good ones I hope,” Arthur graced her with a charming smile.

“Of course.”

“And do I live up to the stories?”

Mithian’s smile widened as Arthur twirled her expertly. “Of course.”

Arthur danced to three songs with her, though he didn’t feel as though he was living up to anything. The presence of so many beautiful women now was a reminder that Arthur had a duty to uphold, that he was to find a wife and sire an heir when he ruled over England. It seemed as though the weight of responsibility was crushing him more than ever.

Arthur spoke with many young women—he couldn’t be seen showing favour to any one of them, not until the following week when he selected his bride-to-be—but his mind was elsewhere. His heart longed to be back in the corridor with the serving boy, to feel his hands grip the solid warmth of him and feel the lightly stubbled cheek beneath his fingertips. Arthur tried to surreptitiously glance around, but could find the mysterious dark-haired man nowhere.

Shortly after the clock struck eleven, Arthur spied a now familiar mop of raven hair across the room. He sprung into action before he could think too much about it and was standing next to the man in under a minute.

“I see you’ve returned,” Arthur commented.

The man didn’t make eye contact, simply kept his gaze forward, but Arthur could see the twitch at the corner of his lips and the twinkle in his eye.

“Yes. I see you have as well.”

They stood in companionable silence a few minutes, watching the dancing and talking as though outsiders until the serving boy broke the silence.

“Today is your twenty-first birthday, is that right?”

“It is.” Arthur nodded.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. And your age?”

“I’ll be twenty-one in a few weeks.”

“Hmm.”

At the noise of consideration, the man finally turned to look at the prince. “Did you think I was older? Younger?”

“To be honest, I...I couldn’t quite place you. You look at times very young, and at others—”

“Mature?”

“Yes.”

The serving boy returned his eyes forward but was definitely smiling now. “You wouldn’t be the first to say so.”

“Who else—”

“May I ask you something?”

Arthur frowned at the interruption. He was _never_ interrupted, only by his father. Even so, it thrilled Arthur that this man might be even slightly curious about him.

“Of course.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

Arthur paled and his mouth opened but no words came out. The serving boy leaned just the slightest bit forward, an amount insignificant enough that nobody else save Arthur would notice it.

“Do you find me attractive?”

Arthur shut his mouth and swallowed thickly. He nodded and felt his face heat with blush.

“Would you like to kiss me again?”

“Very much so,” Arthur exhaled quickly.

The dark-haired man stepped back. “I see.” He said nothing else, simply spun on his heel and disappeared. Arthur was too stunned at first, and by the time he realised the man was on the other side of the room, the man was staring back at him and nodding his head in the direction of the entryway. Arthur hastened to follow as the serving boy slipped around the corner.

It was like following a ghost. Arthur caught only glimpses of a brown jacket, red neckerchief, or dark hair, but finally he turned a corner and was suddenly face to face with the man himself.

“In here,” he whispered softly, pulling Arthur by the hands. He walked steadily backwards into the open coat closet, then shut the door behind them. Like in the corridor before, only a single candle lit the area.

It was as if they’d never parted at all. As soon as the door closed, Arthur was pushed up against it and the man’s tongue had slipped between Arthur’s open lips. Arthur sucked it greedily before chasing it with his own, two hours’ worth of frustrated desire bubbling to the surface.

“Arthur, I...”

“What, what is it?”

The man said nothing, only moved Arthur’s hand to the hardness between his legs. He moaned softly at the moment of contact.

Arthur molded his hand to the shape and gave a gentle squeeze. It drew another wrecked sound from him so Arthur did it again and again. Finally, he simply lifted the man’s tunic and reached into the loose trousers to grab a firm hold. The man’s knees buckled and he gripped Arthur for support, bringing himself that much closer. Arthur kept pressing kisses to his jaw and sucked at his neck as he stroked the man’s cock.

The only warning that he was about to finish was his breathless “Arthur!” and then he was spilling himself into Arthur’s hand. His fingers clutched the fabric of Arthur’s tunic, and he shook unsteadily until finally he let himself fall to his knees.

“Are you al—” Arthur had to stop, for the man was tugging at Arthur’s belt, undoing it, pulling down Arthur’s trousers and—

“Oh God, that’s...”

Arthur let his head fall back to rest against the door. He had been to the brothel a couple times and lain with girls, but they had _never_ done this for him. Yet this man, this simple serving boy, was kissing, licking, _sucking_ Arthur’s cock as though it was a rare dessert. And when Arthur grabbed a fistful of hair to try and pull the man off, to warn him of his impending climax, the man simply hollowed his cheeks and quickened his pace, swallowing every milky drop Arthur had to offer.

The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at Arthur with a wicked grin. Arthur cradled his cheek as the man got to his feet. Arthur was about to press another kiss to those perfect lips, curious to know what he tasted like, when the clock began to strike twelve and the man’s expression shifted to utter panic.

“I have to go,” he said as he reached for the door. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Arthur, if only for this short time.”

The man opened the closet and Arthur hastened to pull up his trousers. “You’re leaving?”

“I must. I’m sorry.” He hurried down the corridor before Arthur could stop him.

“No, no, wait!” Arthur called after him. “You can’t go now. It’s only midnight, and you haven’t told me your name.”

The man stopped just as he was about to turn the corner. When he turned around, he was chewing his lip and his brow was furrowed. After a moment, he reached up and began to untie the knot in his neckerchief.

“Here,” he said, walking over and handing the red cloth to Arthur. He turned to go but Arthur caught his wrist.

“Stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just _can’t_.” The man yanked his wrist free and stepped back.

“Will I ever see you again?” Arthur asked, pulse racing.

The dark-haired man shook his head, though he evidently wished the same as Arthur. “You will marry. You will have children. Soon I’ll be just a memory, and then even that will fade.”

Arthur bunched the cloth in his fist, the only evidence he’d have that the man existed at all after tonight. “I could never forget you, just _please_ , tell me who you are.”

The serving boy took a last deep breath. “Goodbye, Arthur.”

 

~

Arthur didn’t remember the rest of the night, though he was certain he was on his best princely behaviour and didn’t give away his inner despair. When he woke the next morning—or rather, afternoon, as it had been a long evening—the first thing he noticed was the red neckerchief he’d placed on his pillow before drifting off to sleep.

 _He should be here,_ Arthur thought. _I should be staring into his eyes right now. He should be smiling at me, and saying “Good morning, Arthur” in that lovely voice of his._

But he was not there and he had told Arthur that they were never to meet again.

Arthur bolted upright. No. He _would_ see the man again. He would find him and kiss him and make him come back, beg if he had to.

And then what? Arthur fell back to the pillow with a wretched groan. He still had to find a princess and marry her. It was his duty as prince, his inescapable destiny.

Arthur took up the red cloth beside his head and brought it to his nose. It still smelled strongly of the man, a rich earthy scent with a subtle hint of sweat. How long before the discarded accessory lost its odour? How long before Arthur forgot why he even had such an item in the first place?

That decided it. Arthur threw back the duvet and rose from the bed. The man was either a servant hired only for the purpose of the ball, or not a servant at all. His need to make a hasty exit made Arthur believe the latter to be true. He had probably snuck into the party under false pretenses, a matter which under normal circumstances would anger Arthur, but this was no normal circumstance. This was a matter of love.

Yes, that was it, Arthur thought as he dressed himself for a trip to town. Love. He didn’t know the reason why the man felt the need to sneak into the ball and he didn’t care to be quite honest. Arthur would find him, install this man as a _real_ servant, and marry simply to appease his father. It was, Arthur thought, a genius idea.

However, there were certain obstacles, the first of which made itself known when Arthur tried to leave the castle unattended. The guards, it seemed, were ignorant to the meaning of discretion and insisted on accompanying Arthur through the town, in case some dissatisfied citizen tried to attack Arthur on the street.

Arthur, though some would argue otherwise, was by no means the kind of prince that engaged solely in sport and dancing and entertaining women. He was an intellectual—his father had made sure of it and Arthur had come to love reading on his own in time—and easily thought of a plan on the spot to deal with the pesky guardsmen.

“Gentlemen,” Arthur waved them closer, and with a quick glance at each other they leaned in. “You are...Owain, is that right?” Arthur asked of the man on his left.

“Aye, sir.”

“And you Gaheris?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Arthur put a friendly arm around each of their armour-clad shoulders. “Owain. Gaheris. Surely you both understand that a man has certain...needs.”

Gaheris caught on immediately and chuckled his reply, “Oh, yes, Your Highness.”

“And my father...well, he would like me to marry one of the lovely princesses that attended the ball last night. There is, of course, only one small, _tiny_ thing wrong with such a plan, that being that I’m not expected to bed the lovely lady until after our wedding day. Do you catch my meaning?”

Arthur stared at each of them in turn until they both nodded, eyes twinkling with excitement at being let in on the prince’s cunning designs.

“Excellent. That being said, there were several other women at the ball last night, noblewomen my father disapproved of but that I find rather stimulating nonetheless. Noblewomen that would love to have a go with the heir to the throne.”

Owain and Gaheris nodded in understanding.

“So if I were to, say, wear a cloak that hid my royal features, it would be fair to assume you are both assured of my safety and I may be discreet at the same time.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“Aye, sir.”

Arthur gave them both a friendly pat on the shoulder and a broad smile. “Excellent. I will return shortly with such a cloak then.”

The second obstacle arose when Arthur realised finding the serving boy would be easier said than done. The city was in no way small and Arthur had not the slightest idea where to begin searching. He thought about asking if anyone had seen someone that fit the man’s description, but that would mean direct contact and risking recognition.

Arthur walked through the streets aimlessly, hiding his face and searching for someone he was beginning to fear didn’t exist at all. He had only a few hours before his father noticed his absence, and by the time he returned for the evening meal he was more frustrated than he was at the beginning.

Laying awake in bed that night, Arthur decided upon a more methodical approach. He would stake out the more populated areas of the city—the market, the inn, the docks—and simply observe passersby. The man had to go to market _some_ time, or at least pass through to go somewhere else. The city was large but there were certain places everyone frequented.

That’s what Arthur did the next day. He spent an hour roaming the market square, another by the docks, and another near the school. Maybe the man had food to buy or sell, maybe he was a fisherman by trade, maybe he had younger brothers or nephews that he walked home every afternoon. Arthur knew nothing about the man and could therefore only search based on guesses.

The third day after the ball Arthur was kept indoors by his father upon the insistence that he attend the council and make an occasional proposition. Arthur knew he would make no propositions, not only because his father was sure to shut them down immediately, but also because his mind was entirely occupied remembering lips and tongue and eyes and skin. It was only near the end of the meeting that Arthur forced his attention to what was being said because of the growing problem in his trousers.

Arthur didn’t have much of a plan—or hope, for that matter—on the fourth day. He returned to the market to watch, but ended up sulking moodily against the street corner. He was shooed off by a guardsman after a while for loitering, probably due to his wretched appearance. He did make a sorry sight, the hem of his cloak worn and muddy by then and his posture drooping from his morose mood. He relocated to a pile of crates and watched the people pass by forlornly.

“ _Meow._ ”

A grey cat rubbed itself against Arthur’s calf and Arthur reached down to pet it. Its skinny build and pathetic cry made it an obvious stray. Arthur felt a bit like a stray himself, suddenly out of touch with the royal world and its rules, looking for someone he may never find again.

“I’ve always wanted a cat,” Arthur said quietly to the purring stray. He scratched under its chin and the purr deepened. “I have dogs but all they’re good for is—”

The cat blinked up at Arthur’s sudden pause, waiting for him to go on. Arthur got to his feet and pulled out the red neckerchief.

“Hunting.”

“ _Meow._ ”

Arthur wanted to take the cloth to the kennels right then, but logic told him to wait until the next day. On the way back to the castle, he thought up the rest of his plan.

As soon as the first rays of sunlight entered through the window, Arthur got out of bed and went to the dogs. It had been a couple years since Arthur exercised them himself, the last time being when he was sixteen. Now the job was left to the Dog Boy who sometimes even slept in the kennels.

It had been a while, but nobody would question it if he took one of them out for a walk. Arthur put on the now familiar cloak—leaving the hood down until after he passed the gate—and leashed one of the younger hounds, one he’d help raise from when it was just a pup and who was glad to see its friend return.

Arthur stuck to the edge of the city, not wanting to draw attention and wanting to give the dog an actual exercise as well. On one side of him were buildings and the other, open countryside. When they were far enough out, Arthur held out the neckerchief and unleashed him.

The dog sniffed the ground and began heading deeper into the city. Arthur thought about stopping it, but immediately abandoned that train of thought. The dog was well-trained. Arthur would be able to stay a short distance away without losing sight of it, and it would make sure that Arthur was following even amongst the crowd of people.

They went all the way through the city and finally left it altogether. Arthur didn’t think he would need a horse but he worried all the same. He couldn’t be absent from the castle for long, not with everyone expecting him to choose a wife soon.

As it turned out, Arthur needn’t have worried. After nearly an hour on the road they neared a small farming village, and from the way the dog wanted to charge ahead, Arthur could tell they were close. When they passed through the crooked wooden fence that marked the boundaries, and the first dirt-speckled face looked up at him from planting seeds, Arthur put the leash back on.

Arthur trusted these people more than the city dwellers, and even if that weren’t the case they still very likely hadn’t ever seen their Crown Prince before. Arthur had no problem lowering his hood and revealing his features so that he wouldn’t look as unfriendly.

It proved to be a smart move, for then the glances became more curious than wary. He was also right in assuming they’d never seen him before, which was quite lucky.

The hound led him straight through to the edge of the village. Arthur somehow knew which house it would be before the dog sniffed it out and tied the leash to the fencepost just outside it. He approached the door and was about to knock when a laugh caused him to look a bit to his left.

There, through the window, he saw the man taking a seat at a wooden table. Arthur even heard the dull thud as the bowl in his hand hit the table. The man laughed again at something that was being said by a female voice just behind the door, and Arthur suddenly couldn’t wait any longer. He knocked hard, three times, even though his rhythm faltered when the man looked straight at him through the window and his smile disappeared to be replaced by terror.

Arthur had a moment of panic himself when the door opened and he had not a clue what to say to the woman he found in front of him. Luckily, she only smiled at him and asked, “Are you a friend of Merlin’s?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied immediately, seeing that would get him inside.

“Come in, come in,” she waved him. “We were just having breakfast. Have you had anything?”

Arthur’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food. “No, I...I left right at dawn.” Arthur sat at the table across from the man—Merlin, had she called him?—at the woman’s request. Merlin kept his eyes pointedly down at whatever chunky liquid was in his bowl.

A similar bowl appeared in front of Arthur. “You’re not from around here then?”

“I’m from—”

“Just the next town over,” Merlin finished quickly. His mother gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him.

“Merlin.”

Merlin’s shoulders drooped and he stirred his broth guiltily. “Okay, well, do you remember that traveling merchant that came through last week? And he was talking about how the prince was going to hold a ball—”

“Merlin!”

“I’d never been to the city, Mum! And it was the perfect opportunity—”

“How did you even get in?”

Merlin shrunk in his seat. “I pretended to be a servant,” he admitted in a small voice. Arthur took his first hesitant sip of broth and forced it down, watching the argument between mother and son with interest.

Merlin’s mother gripped her bosom. “You can’t just invite yourself to the prince’s birthday, Merlin. If he had found out—no, if the king himself had found out—he’d have your head!”

“But he didn’t find out,” Arthur interjected. “The king, I mean.”

“Exactly,” Merlin nodded, thankful that Arthur seemed to be playing along. “I left before anyone noticed.”

The woman forgave her son for the time being and returned to Arthur. “You’re from the city then?”

“Yes.” Arthur held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise. I’m Hunith, Merlin’s mother. And you are?”

“George,” Merlin said. “His name is George.”

Hunith, however, seemed to know when Merlin was lying, probably because he was such rubbish at it.

“That’s not quite true, is it, ‘George?’” she asked Arthur with a cocked eyebrow.

“Er, no. My name is—”

“Mum, didn’t you say Matthew needed your help with something today?” Merlin stood and began pulling her by the hand towards the door.

“Merlin!”

“ _Mum._ ”

“Yes, _Mer_ lin, why don’t you want your mother to know who I am?” Arthur teased.

Merlin pointed an angry finger at Arthur. “You,” he said firmly, “aren’t even supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to see me ever again. I even gave you my favourite scarf, you prat.”

“Merlin,” Hunith scolded. “You told me you lost it. And whoever this young man is, he’s hardly done anything deserving of insult.”

“You mean this?” Arthur pulled out the red neckerchief. “This came in useful actually. It’s what allowed me to find you. Have a look outside.” Arthur jerked his thumb toward the window with a wry smile and Merlin walked over to see just what Arthur was talking about. Hunith looked as well.

Merlin gasped when he saw the dog tied to the fencepost. “You tracked me down like some sort of animal?”

“Yes, well, how else would I get to see you again? I looked all over the city and nearly gave up until the idea struck me. I didn’t think you lived _quite_ this far out though.”

“Merlin, who is this?” Hunith demanded. “What did you get up to in the city and why has this man come looking for you?” Merlin didn’t get to respond though because she turned immediately to Arthur and continued. “If my son owes you any money—”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Arthur said, laughing. “If anything I want to give _him_ money.”

“Except you won’t, because you can’t,” Merlin declared pointedly. “I can’t and you definitely can’t, and you can beg all you want but I’m not going back to be some dirty little secret.” Merlin crossed his arms and lifted his chin defiantly.

“Is that how you think it will be?” Arthur got up from the table and stepped forward, making Merlin step back.

“Merlin, will you please explain to me what is going on?” Hunith pleaded.

Merlin ignored her. “I know exactly what you’re thinking and I refuse. You can’t have both and it was...it was wrong of me to ever encourage such behaviour, knowing full well that—”

“I love you!” Arthur shouted. Both Merlin and his mother gasped. “I didn’t exactly plan to um, say that, _just_ then, but I do.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip. “I realise now it wasn’t really fair of me to expect you to be fine with such an arrangement. But I haven’t stopped thinking of you and just the thought of not being with you is terrifying. I’ll run away if I have to.”

“You can’t,” Merlin said. “You have responsibilities.”

“I don’t want them. I can’t stand them. What everyone expects me to do, to be...it’s crushing me, Merlin. Why can’t I just live a normal life like anyone else? Maybe I don’t want to be Prince Arthur, but just Arthur.”

“Oh my God.” Hunith clasped her hand to her mouth and looked back and forth between her son and Arthur. “He isn’t—Tell me you didn’t—with the prince, no less!”

Merlin blushed. “I might have...kissed the prince?” he confessed with a sheepish grin.

“To be fair, I asked him to,” Arthur added.

“Twice.”

Arthur nodded and wore a grin of his own when he remembered how the second one ended. “Yes, twice.” Merlin coloured deeper.

“Oh my God,” Hunith repeated. “The prince. In my kitchen.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mum, the prince. Now you see why he can’t just run away to be with me.”

“I can and I will. My father is not too old to raise another son, and even so there is still my uncle Agravaine who is perfectly capable of ruling in my place,” Arthur declared.

“And you’d leave your father, give up ruling all of England, just for _me_?” Merlin pointed to himself incredulously.

“That and more,” Arthur replied without hesitation.

Hunith made a noise akin to a squeak and Merlin simply stood gaping in open astonishment. Then he looked to his mother, cleared his throat, and said, “Mum, could you, maybe—”

“Oh, Merlin, you were absolutely right. Matthew did ask me to help him with something today,” Hunith put on her shawl. “I’ll be back by lunch, dear.” She pecked a kiss to Merlin’s cheek and left.

Arthur was too distracted watching Hunith’s back disappearing down the walk to see Merlin pounce on him. “You,” Merlin growled and pushed a very surprised Arthur into the wall. “I can’t believe you just...”

Arthur however didn’t get to hear what Merlin couldn’t believe, because Merlin pressed himself flat against Arthur and—oh, was that thing prodding Arthur’s thigh the reason Merlin asked his mother to leave?—brought their lips together after far too long being apart.

“...showed up here and...”

Merlin curled his fingers in Arthur’s hair and forced Arthur’s head back to allow him deeper access. He shoved his tongue between Arthur’s lips and claimed him just as he had those few nights ago. Arthur let him. He gripped Merlin’s waist and held him close, let his mouth be explored and conquered, because he never wanted Merlin to leave again.

“...said you loved me right in front of my mother for God’s sake.”

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed.

“What, what is it?”

“Shut up.”

Merlin laughed, tightened his hold on Arthur’s arms and spun them around. Still grinning wickedly, he pushed Arthur back, forcing him to walk backwards, until they entered a room that must have been Merlin’s.

Then Arthur was falling and his heart skipped just before his back hit the bed. He had no time to get used to the new position as Merlin was just as suddenly straddling him and kissing him senseless again.

“Wait.” Merlin straightened and Arthur nearly sobbed with want. Merlin looked so good from this angle, sitting atop his waist like that. “You’ve never lain with a man before, have you?”

Arthur shook his head. “No.”

Merlin smiled, this one unlike any of his previous ones to date. It was more than mischievous; it was devious, cunning, with a promise of more to come.

He lowered his head and whispered hot in Arthur’s ear, rolling his hips as he did so. “You can be rough with me.”

Arthur’s cock twitched and then suddenly Merlin wasn’t on top of him at all. The ethereal man had somehow gotten to his feet and then Arthur was being pulled up as well.

“But first: you’re wearing entirely too many clothes.”

Merlin deftly pulled the string holding Arthur’s cloak together and pushed it over his shoulders in one smooth motion. Arthur didn’t want to seem completely useless, so he moved to assist. He unlaced Merlin’s trousers as Merlin removed his tunic, and as Merlin stepped out of the fabric pooled around his ankles, Arthur took of his own clothing. As soon as Arthur pulled his tunic over his head he was pushed right back down to the bed and Merlin had topped him once again.

“You’ve got to stop manhandling the prince, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur chided, but was honestly thrilled. “Even a country boy pretending to be a servant should know that.”

“Oh, but Arthur, you forget.” Merlin leaned in close again and Arthur knew whatever Merlin was going to say it would wreck him. “I don’t always do as I’m told.”

Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s wrists and flipped them. Merlin only giggled. He stopped giggling, however, when Arthur reached down and wrapped strong fingers around his cock.

“Ah, Arthur!”

Arthur stroked slowly, squeezing ever so slightly every time he neared the head. “You were saying?”

Merlin jerked his hips up for more delicious friction. “I was saying I’m yours and you may do with me what you wish,” he replied breathlessly. “Just—Arthur, please—”

“Yes?”

“Under the bed. Look under the bed.”

Arthur released his grip on Merlin’s cock and braced himself with one flat palm to look under the bed. He reached for the jar of oil and sat back up. Merlin snatched it from his hands and uncorked it, coating his fingers before handing it back to Arthur.

“Can you...?” He shifted his legs further apart, but Arthur was blocking him from opening them as wide as he needed.

“What?” Arthur’s face drained of colour and he momentarily panicked.

Merlin laughed at his expression. “You look like I’ve asked you to help deliver a baby! I’m not going to make you stretch me open, not when it’s so obvious you have no idea what you’re doing. I just need you to move back a bit, love.”

“Oh.” Arthur shifted to the side and Merlin butterflied his legs, one still hooked firmly around Arthur’s waist.

Arthur’s eyes were glued to Merlin’s fingers disappearing inside him. He was mesmerised by the way Merlin’s hole clenched around them, and he had to force himself not to stroke his cock when he thought about how tight it would be around him.

He couldn’t help himself; he reached out and traced the stretched rim of Merlin’s entrance with his thumb, causing Merlin’s eyes to flutter closed.

“Does it feel good?” Arthur asked suddenly.

“The fingering or the fucking?” Merlin added a third slippery finger and inhaled through his teeth.

“Both, I suppose.” Arthur tried not to show how unaccustomed he was to Merlin’s term for sex.

“Hurts at first but— _fuck_ —it does eventually. Feels so good, Arthur.”

“Will you do it to me sometime?” Arthur nudged his thumb in a bit and to his surprise it slid in easily next to Merlin’s fingers.

“Oh God,” Merlin moaned.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing, just...you know, the prince of England asking me to fuck him.”

Arthur grinned. “Are all country boys this vulgar?”

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin sighed as he pulled his fingers out and pinned Arthur with a stare Arthur knew now was downright sinister. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Now get that royal cock inside my country arse and get to fucking.”

Arthur simply gaped at first but then Merlin wiggled his hips and Arthur sprang into action. Merlin held his legs high as Arthur lined up and pushed slowly in. He froze midway when Merlin inhaled sharply.

“Don’t stop,” Merlin breathed, “For the love of God, don’t stop.”

Arthur thrust in the rest of the way and immediately stopped again when Merlin yelped, but this time for a different reason.

“Arthur, you prat, I said don’t—”

“Merlin, I...just give _me_ a minute, yeah?” Arthur said through clenched teeth. “You’re so tight—I never—”

“Alright. Yeah, alright.” Merlin put his head back and caught his breath, content to just lay there with Arthur full inside him. After a few drawn out moments, Arthur slowly pulled out halfway, then pushed back in experimentally.

“God, Merlin, this is...this is nothing like women, you’re so hot, so beautiful, it’s like I can feel every little move you make around me.”

Merlin clenched his arse around Arthur’s cock and Arthur felt as though he’d been punched in the chest, he became so winded.

“I realise it’s your first time and you’re in awe and whatnot, but I really would like to get on with the fucking bit, so if you don’t mind...”

Merlin wiggled his hips again and desire flared up inside of Arthur with an intense passion. He began fucking Merlin in earnest, pulling out quickly and slamming mercilessly back in. Merlin had said he could be rough. His grip around Merlin’s thighs was hard enough to leave bruises and Merlin held onto Arthur’s arms just as tightly.

But Merlin knew it could get better. He shifted more weight to his shoulders and raised his arse just a little higher so that Arthur could go deeper, could hit _that_ spot inside of him, and when Arthur’s prick rubbed against the electric bundle of nerves, Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and whined high in the back of his throat.

Arthur was beginning to sweat with the effort. His blond hair stuck to his forehead and his upper lip shone with perspiration. His muscles were begging him to stop but he ignored them and kept pushing harder, faster, deeper, until he felt his orgasm build in his groin.

Merlin had to have sensed Arthur’s desperation, because as soon as Arthur opened his mouth to warn him Merlin wrapped a hand around his cock and began stroking it so fast his fingers were a pale blur. Then Merlin was coming, thick ropes of come spurting on his chest and some on his chin, and clenching around Arthur so hard Arthur’s vision went white around the edges. The next thing Arthur knew, he was coming himself.

Merlin let his weight drop to the bed and Arthur thrust the last of orgasm into Merlin’s limp body, then pulled out with a strangely satisfying squelching noise.

He collapsed onto the bed next to Merlin and put his head on Merlin’s shoulder, closing his eyes while they both caught their breath. Merlin’s arm curled around Arthur and pulled him closer, and Arthur draped his leg over Merlin’s thighs.

Arthur looked up when Merlin started chuckling. “What?”

“The prince of England is cuddling me.”

Arthur smiled into Merlin’s skin then shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

“Not the prince. Not anymore. Now I’m just Arthur.” Arthur raised his head and his smile widened when he looked into Merlin’s cerulean eyes. “I’ll go back with the dog, pack all my valuables, and return here tonight. We’ll leave tomorrow and sell all my jewels in the first town we get to. Then we’ll buy a house or a cottage and I can work in a pub—”

“Shh.” Merlin put a finger to Arthur’s lips, but was laughing again. “Slow down, Arthur. One thing at a time.”

“There’s no time for slow, Merlin. I’m expected to pick a wife soon and I—Merlin, I can’t bear to live in that castle anymore. I feel like a prisoner there, but with you, with _you_ , I’m free.”

Merlin hugged Arthur closer and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Alright, love, then clean us up and get dressed. We’ve got quite an adventure ahead of us.”


End file.
